


If There's No One Beside You When Your Soul Embarks

by HighLadySolo



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Ben Solo did not die, Ben solo is broken, But so is everyone else, F/M, Gen, Slow To Update, Star Wars Acotar xover, but not abandoned, he fell to Prythian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:29:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23412385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HighLadySolo/pseuds/HighLadySolo
Summary: When Ben Solo died on Exegol, he fell through a door to Prythian.
Relationships: Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien & Rowan Whitethorn, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey & Ben Solo, Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 28
Kudos: 33
Collections: ReylOlds





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this came at 1am from an anti-depressant fueled bout of insomnia. The parallels between the characters and plotlines work, and for some reason, my lack of sleep made me decide that each chapter title MUST be a Skillet song title (don't ask, I don't know why)
> 
> skyeryder01, as always, is my wonderful beta reader and enabler.
> 
> This will have some spoilers for Sarah J Maas's A Court of Thorns and Roses series, but I won't go into *too much* detail. So if you haven't read it, do proceed with caution, but don't let it stop you from proceeding, ya know?

### Prologue: Falling Inside the Black

Darkness and stars spun past him, not quite in streams like hyperspace travel, but like silent fireworks. Wondering at it all, Ben reached out a hand to touch the stars or to stop his fall, he didn’t know. Nothing happened. No trace of stardust flickered over him, and he didn’t stop falling. It was rather nice, he thought, falling through stars. He’d always loved starlight, though he’d forgotten that for so long. 

Until Rey.

He’d forgotten many things until Rey came along, blasting her way into his life like the Jakku sandstorm that she was. 

_Rey._

Pain shot through what was left of his heart at the thought of her. He loved her, and he’d chosen to sacrifice himself in order for her to live, but it still hurt knowing that she was alone.

A sharp pull in his chest and 

Could the bond still be intact? 

Ben frantically poured all of his love into the very thin thread that remained between them, hoping he could at least give her that before that final thread could be snapped.

And so he fell through the darkness and stars, clinging tightly to a thin red thread. Ben closed his eyes, mourning what he’d lost.


	2. Awake and Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben is awake...and alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to skyeryder01 for reading my weird ideas

With a very loud sound that was somewhere between a smack and a thud, Benjamin Chewbacca Organa Solo found himself out of breath and flat on his back in sand of all things.Kriff, he hated sand, if only because it reminded him of her.

 _Sand_?

How could he be dead and feel sand beneath his fingers?

Finally his overwrought mind caught up.

He was, in fact, not dead.

Ben fumbled for the Force and felt relief wash over him when he felt the soothing warmth of its light side.So long had he resisted the pull of the light, that allowing it to wash over him completely was a balm to his ruined soul.

His ruined soul. 

His ruined soul that was split in half without her.

_Anger and fear and…_

The tiny scrap of the bond that remained flickered for one heart stopping moment, but it did not go out.Relief flooded him in a cold, rushing wave.

Oh, no, that was an actual wave. 

Was he on a beach?

Pushing aside memories of the last time he’d been drenched in seawater, Ben scrambled upright, trying to avoid the next round of waves.

He was not successful.

Drenched completely, Ben sighed and used a Force shield to keep the next wave from battering his ravaged body back into the sand.Slowly pulling himself beyond the waterline, Ben felt a gentle tap through the Force that usually meant he was being watched, but he ignored it until he could completely extricate himself from the frigid water.Once free of the pull of the waves, Ben allowed himself to collapse on the rocky shore, using the Force try to get a feel for what was watching him and keeping his guard up.

He’d already died once today; it would not happen again.

The person watching him felt small and female, though her Force signature was unlike anything he’d felt before. 

“You look like a drowned rat.”The voice was definitely feminine but with a cold sharpness that instantly had his guard up.

Through the Force, Ben could feel that his lightsaber was gone, lost on Exegol or in the blackness through which he’d fallen.So he was weaponless.It was less than ideal, but he focused on his breathing and tried to feel his observer’s intention.She felt…wary and ancient and cold and fearsome.But she did not _feel_ like an enemy.Yet.

There was a distinct feeling that she _could_ be if she felt threatened.

A tiny hand with red-lacquered nails and encrusted in jewels appeared before his hazy vision and he gingerly took it, not really intending to use her help to stand.

The tiny hand yanked him upright, and his injuries barked in protest at the unexpected strength of the movement.

The barking pain of his wounds cleared Ben’s vision enough that he was able to finally look down at the woman.She was _tiny_ , especially compared to his large frame, with chin-length, jet black hair honed to a razor’s edge.Delicately pointed ears rose from the inky curtains of her hair.Her smoky grey eyes blazed with intensity, and Ben took a step back, away from the tiny woman.

“You fell through, too,” she said.

He nodded, vague images of falling through starlit darkness flitting through his mind.

She was tiny and terrifying and ancient in a way that vaguely reminded him of Maz Kanata, if Maz ever looked like she wanted to taste his blood.

“The High Lord felt you coming,” she said, “so he sent me to find you. There aren’t many who can travel between realms, and you didn’t enter through the Fire-Breather’s door, so he was…concerned.” 

Ben blinked in response.

The tiny woman poked him in the ribs and he flinched away from her.

“Cat got your tongue?” Her smile made her even more terrifying.

“W-what? No,” he said.“It’s been a very long day.I died.”His voice sounded hoarse and raw, as if he’d been screaming.

“Oh, those days are the _worst_ ,” she said, turning and walking away, her black hair swinging in a short sheet around her face.“Come along.You don’t look in any state to cause harm.We’ll let the healers look at you and then let the High Lord decided what to do with you.”

Bewildered, Ben paused just long enough to roughly Force-heal his injuries and let the tiny woman lead him away from the ocean. 

After an hour of shivering and silent walking behind the tiny woman, Ben found himself on the outskirts of a glittering city.The sun had begun setting as they walked, and the colors streaking across the sky were like none he’d ever seen, even on the dozens of worlds he’d visited.Amethyst and crimson buildings lay across the city, echoing the brilliantly colored sky, and Ben felt a pang, knowing how much Rey would have loved to see the colors of the beautiful city. 

As small as she was, Ben thought he would have to walk quickly not to to lose the tiny woman on the crowded streets, but as soon as they entered, the crowd parted for them.Ben wondered if the woman was using some Force-repelling technique he hadn’t thought of in his waterlogged, recently dead state.But, no.The people were staring at her in awe, and possibly a little fear, murmuring but not looking directly at her.Some even bowing outright as she passed, though the woman made no indication that she had noticed their reactions to her, and Ben wondered if perhaps he should reassess his evaluation of her.And so they continued through the lovely city, with Ben close on the heels of the tiny who woman who acknowledged no one, but cleared a path through the throngs anyway.

The city was filled with species Ben had never encountered, despite his rather broad travels.Some were green-skinned and long-limbed, while others were humanoid with large, membranous black wings.It appeared that the city was divided into sections: for clothing, for food, for artists… and Ben found himself longing to explore with Rey.

Except he was gone.

And he had no idea where he was, or where she was, or how he could return to her, or if he even could.

A familiar, unwelcome coldness began creeping along his spine, but he shoved it away, focusing instead on the here and now. On the familiar words now thrumming like a drumbeat in his head.

_There is no_ **_emotion_ ** _, there is peace._

_There is no emotion, there is_ **_peace_ ** _._

_There is no emotion…_

But that wasn’t true.

He was _full_ of emotion.

Full of love, for Rey, for his family.Full of joy at seeing her one last time, for feeling his mother’s parting gift to him.

And yes, full of fear and anger and sadness.

As he walked, he turned over the codes of the Jedi and the Sith in his head.Though he hadn’t been Sith, he had adopted some of their ideologies, but now, neither rang true.

He was still pondering when he ran right into the back of the tiny, now angry, woman.

She spun on a minuscule heel, and he threw himself into a defensive position.The smoke in her eyes curled and he thought he might have seen fire blaze for moment, but she only gazed at him, taking in his stance.

“Hmm,” was all she said as she continued to stare at him.She gestured at the door before him that was marked with what was apparently a universal symbol for healing.The door slid open before he could go forward, and a pair of blue hands gestured them inside.Once the door had closed behind him, Ben found himself in a waiting room of sorts, with a sapphire skinned female with sky blue hair ushered them forward while smiling, if a bit nervously.

“We’re here to see Madja,” his escort said to the blue female.

“Of course!” The blue female trilled.“Please have a seat. It will just be a moment.”She walked down a hallway and spoke in low tones outside a closed door.She nodded when she returned, and though Ben folded himself into a small chair in a corner, the tiny woman who had brought him here remained standing, folding her arms over her chest. 

There was little to look at and nothing to do, so Ben folded his hands and let them hang as he braced his elbows on his knees, staring blankly at the floor.

He had died.

He had _died_.

When he’d brought Rey back, he’d known he would die.He’d been prepared for it.He had not, however, been prepared for the kiss she’d planted on him, and in that moment he’d desperately wished, prayed, begged, for some kind of miracle.To _not_ die.To _be with her_.

She’d wished and begged and prayed for someone to be with her, too.Before he’d died.While he was still Supreme Leader, he’d felt her begging the Jedi to _be with her_ because he wasn’t.Because he didn’t know how to be the man she needed him to be.Expected him to be.

Not that he deserved her anyway.

Ben’s head sagged deeper and he ran his fingers through salt-rough hair.He would _not_ go down this path.Especially not now that he was gone and it no longer mattered. 

The female nurse returned, bringing a bit of light with her.

“Madja’s ready.Please follow me.”

The tiny, black-haired female snapped to attention and followed the other female, so Ben unfolded himself from the chair and followed them down the hallway to a room that looked like every other examination room he’d been in.Inside, a tiny ancient looking female waited, perched on the edge of a table.She nodded hello to the black haired woman as the other female gently shut the door behind her.Ben stood in the doorway, fisting his hands in his pockets, unsure of what to do as the older woman got to her feet and came over to peer up at him.

“What’s your name, boy?” She asked gently.

Ben froze.

“He doesn’t talk much,” the other female interjected.

Ben raised an eyebrow but didn’t look at her.She hadn’t spoken much, either.

“My name is Ben,” he rasped.

The old woman came and stood before Ben, peering up at him. She reached out with both hands, and she paused when he flinched away.

"I just need to touch you for my magic to be sure everything is all right. Nothing invasive, and I'll heal what I can. Is that all right?" the old woman, Madja, said.

Magic? Some corners of his galaxy still considered the force to be magic, so maybe she was just using the Force. Rey had healed him, and he her, so perhaps it was the same. Or similar enough.

So he nodded in agreement, though he felt a bit trepidatious. Madja's hands were cool and dry as she wrapped small, strong fingers around his wrists and closed her eyes. Small flashes of warm energy tingled through his veins and over his nerves, lingering over old and new injuries.

Broken ribs and a leg. The slicing burn over his face. The bowcaster wound. Older, deeper scars on his back.

Ben felt Madja tense as her magic, or Force, or whatever it was, passed over those places, but she didn't speak. Little stings as the healer made finer adjustments to the rough Force- healing he'd attempted when he'd fallen through the darkness.As her magic rose up his body, Ben, knowing what would likely come next, threw up his mental shields and focused solely on keeping them in place. He felt the healer's light brush of against his consciousness, but she made no attempt to push beyond his barriers. When she was finished, the healer opened her eyes and released his wrists, while looking up into his eyes. The healer's eyes were old and a little sad, with the wisdom of her age shining through.Ben wondered how sad and wise his mother's eyes had been when she'd died.. 

Sadness and... regret? flickered in the force for a moment as he thought of Leia.

But the healer continued.

"He needs to speak with the High Lord." she commanded.

"Yes," said the tiny. black-haired one. "I am bringing him to - " .

The healer held up a wrinkled hand. 

"No." Her voice was gentle, but strong. 

"He needs to _speak with_ the High Lord." 

Speak with, she'd said. Not be interrogated or tortured or imprisoned by. 

Ben didn't have time to ponder her words as the tiny one considered him. 

"Ah," was all she said, though he felt a slight shift in her bearing toward him.She stared intently at him, tapping a pointed, red nail on her too-white teeth.“Let’s go then.”And she spun on a heel with a curt nod to Madja, another for the assistant, and she was nearly out the door before Ben realized she’d left the room. 

Ben made an awkward half-wave, half- shuffle motion with his arms and hurried to follow after her.

Heels clicking on the cobblestones, the tiny woman had covered a lot of ground in the time it took his mind to catch up to her leaving, but the crowd still parted around her enough that Ben was able to quickly find her.Her stride was even more determined that it had been before they’d visited the healer, and her feet were a blur over the stones as she led him through the city.Much faster than they’d reached the healer, the woman practically dragged him with her and then stropped abruptly.

Ben remained wary, but turned his head slightly to take in their surroundings.The woman had brought him to a gate that lay on the edge of an estate within the city.The estate was made of white stone, with copious amounts of enormous, white-curtained windows.It lay sprawling before a sparkling blue gem of a river, with verdant lawns rolling all the way down to its banks.The tiny woman waved her hand over the black stretch of metal where a lock should be, and the massive piece of wrought metal swung forward to allow them in. 

Behind the woman, Ben slowed to take in the mansion before him, apprehension growing.Who was the High Lord?And what were they going to do with him?


	3. Locked in a Cage/Dead Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben meets the High Lord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to skyeryder01 for the beta reading.

The tiny woman sauntered up the grey stone walkway to the door of the mansion and waved her hand over another dark panel near the knob. This door did not spring open immediately as the gate had done, and Ben was able to take in the beautifully detailed carvings of mountains and stars and intricate scrollwork. Beside him, the tiny woman hissed a curse and sucked in a breath like she was about to start yelling. But the door slowly swung open to reveal a man cloaked in a swarm of darkness.

Out of instinct, Ben reached for his missing lightsaber, and upon finding it not there, gestured wildly with the Force. But before he landed the blow, he felt a thin trickle of peace through his terror. 

_ Look _ , it seemed to say.  _ Feel _ . 

Ben stayed his hand. And looked. And felt.

Though the person before him stood wrapped in darkness, Ben neither saw nor felt any malice or immediate threat, so he lowered his hand and tried to ignore his pounding heart and rush of adrenaline. Instead, he took in the man who’d let them in. He's roughly Ben’s height and width, though perhaps a bit more leanly muscled to Ben’s bulk. The man was dressed in all black, as Ben was, though his clothes were clearly finely made and considerably less damp and hole-y than Ben's. Violet eyes were assessing Ben as surely as Ben assessed the man. For a threat.

“I found this one,” the tiny woman poked Ben in the ribs, “washed up on the beach like a drowned rat.” 

“Dear Amren,” the man said, nodding politely to Ben, “must you speak so?”

The tiny woman, Amren, snarled in response. The violet-eyed man turned to Ben.

“You fell through the door?” He asked.

“I…I think so,” Ben answered.

“He said he  _ died _ today,” Amren said, prodding the man in the ribs with a sharp nail. He let out a long-suffering sigh in response, but he turned back to Ben with renewed interest.

“Ah, so you’re part of the ‘I died’ club, are you? You’ll fit in well here.”

Ben blinked.

And blinked again.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “What?”

“Well,” the man said, “I died. Dear Amren here died, and Feyre…” he trailed off for a moment. His voice had just the slightest hint of a crack on the name. “So you see, you chose an excellent door to fall through.”

Ben was very, very confused.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “What?”

Amren and the other man shared a look.

“Amren,” the man began, “ah, did you tell your new friend  _ nothing _ ?”

“I thought I’d let you do the honors,  _ High Lord _ ,” Amren scoffed.

Nervously, and rather belatedly, Ben realized that the man before him was the High Lord of whom he’d been apprehensive over meeting, and he wondered if he should’ve bowed. Or something.

The High Lord sighed and refocused on Ben. After a moment, the High Lord rolled his eyes in the direction of Amren’s back; she had spun on a heel and headed down a long corridor beyond the foyer. Snapping his fingers, the High Lord just continued to stare at Ben, who noticed that his clothes were now dry. So the two men continued staring at each other, and Ben, who didn’t feel threatened so much as bewildered and lost, began to clench and unclench his fists at his sides, which the High Lord noted immediately.

“What’s your name?” The High Lord spoke suddenly.

“Ben,” Ben answered. The other man nodded.

“I’m Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court. Welcome to my domain.” The last sentence was said a bit drily as Rhysand gestured around him to the estate and beyond. “You look like you could use a meal… and a fight.” 

Ben tensed and physically had to clamp his hand to his leg to keep from reaching for his missing lightsaber. Through the Force, he reached out toward Rhysand in preparation to send him flying or choke him or Ben didn’t know what. But instead of finding the malice of impending threat, Ben found… humor? And a cool reserve, yes, but also something else. 

“You don’t mean to harm me? You feel…as though you’re wearing a mask?” The questions were tentative. Rhysand’s violet eyes snapped to his and darkness flickered there.

“You…felt? How did you do that? I felt it but it was unlike anything I’ve ever…” The High Lord trailed off, considering. “You’re from another world.” He tapped a finger on his chin. “The magic is different there.” Ben thought he looked intrigued and a little apprehensive, but Rhysand continued. “I’m a daemati and the most powerful fae male to have ever existed, so believe me when I tell you that you should not be able to bypass my mental shields.” A hint of a growl had crept into the High Lord’s voice, and Ben thought for a moment that he’d seen a shadow of wings behind the other man. 

“I used the Force,” Ben said simply and shrugged. He was curious about what the High Lord had said, but felt it best to keep his questions to himself .

Rhysand considered him for what felt like a long time, and Ben felt claws scraping against his own mental shields.

Instantly, Ben felt the old mask slip over his features as the instinct to protect himself, his mind, for further invasion and violation like he’d endured for  _ years _ .  _ Years _ of torture and lies and  _ being alone  _ and anger and hatred and fear and pain. A bloodred haze crept around the edges of his vision and his heart pounded, the adrenaline rush like icy fire through his veins. It burned his body even as it froze his mind to a single point.

_ Fear and pain and anger and hatred and fear and pain  _ were a song in his blood, the darkness in his shattered soul rising to meet them.

“Stay out of my head!” He snarled as his hand flew up and he reached through the Force to cut off the High Lord’s air as he looked around for a weapon or a path to flee.

Rhysand’s own hand flew up in the same instant and Ben felt magic and Force battling between them, and then they both just…stopped.

Both men left their hands in place, but their power no longer battled as a feminine voice sounded behind them.

“Rhys,” she said. Her voice was the female mirror to the High Lord’s, and though it sounded nothing like Rey’s it brought her back to mind and 

_ oh gods  _

How had he let this happen? He’d nearly fallen to the dark  _ again _ .

“What have I told you about fighting in the foyer?” The voice was filled with humor and a hint of exasperation and love for the man he’d wanted to kill.

Ben felt his body sag and he collapsed to his knees.

Light, feminine-sounding footsteps came toward him and stopped. Worn leather boots appeared in his vision, and then her hands as she offered them to him. Her right hand was covered with the blue-black ink of a swirling tattoo. Both were flecked with paint.

Ben turned his head away from her offered hands. He didn’t deserve help. He deserved to feel the pain and shame of what he’d nearly done.

“Stop.” Her voice was queenly and commanding, and  _ now  _ it reminded him of his mother and he couldn’t decide which was worse. The memory of Rey or of Leia.

“Stop,” she said again and placed one hand on his shoulder.

Rhysand growled behind her but did nothing.

“You’re Ben?”

He nodded.

“I am Feyre, and Rhysand is my mate. Please don’t kill him in our home, even if he is a bit of a prick.”

Ben blinked and Rhysand let out a barked laugh.

“I could feel your pain when you fell through the door,” she said. “You’ve been hurt. Broken. We all have. I’d like to help you, if you’ll let me.” Her words were kind, and that kindness ripped his already broken heart to shreds. He did not deserve kindness.

He told her as much.

Ben felt her turn slightly toward her mate and remain there as they had some sort of silent conversation. Her hand left his shoulder, and he was glad. 

He shouldn’t be touched out of kindness.

Air moved around them as the woman gestured to her mate, but Ben still hung his head.

“Ben.” The commanding tone was back. “Get up.”

Slowly, Ben unfolded to his feet, though he still looked away from the two mates before him.

“Feyre,” Rhysand’s voice came as a strained warning.

“Rhys,” Feyre growled back. “Stop.” She paused, turning to her mate. “Do you not feel it? He needs our help,  _ Rhys _ .” His name on her lips was a command, and Rhysand remained silent. “Ben,” she said turning back to him, “let us help you.” 

When he remained silent, she faced Rhysand again.

“You go find Cassian or Azriel; I’ll stay here.” Another order to the High Lord. Dark power rumbled through the room, but Feyre stopped him before he could speak. “No male posturing, Rhys. I’ll talk to him. I’m not afraid.” 

Something cracked inside him at Feyre’s words.

Ben heard the High Lord leave and finally turned to look at the woman with the kind words.

Feyre had golden-brown hair twisted into a long braid draped over a shoulder that was clad in a loose-fitting cream colored sweater. He’d noticed paint on her hands, and there were flecks of it over her sleeves too. Her grey-blue eyes looked at him kindly out of a pretty face, and delicately pointed ears peeked through her hair. She crossed her arms over her chest as she took him in.

“You don’t want to talk about it?” She asked.

Ben shook his head, his long salt-roughened hair stinging his cheeks at the movement.

“That’s fine,” she looked up at him and grinned. “Do you want to eat?”

“Yes, please,” Ben said quietly.

“Manners! How nice! Az won’t be alone in judging how feral we all are at dinner!” She laughed and turned, starting down the corridor, gesturing for him to follow. “Come on, let’s find food.”

Ben found himself following this commanding woman and winced when he heard his stomach growl. When had he eaten last? On Kef Bir? Maybe? It might have been days, and he’d forgotten in his single minded search for Rey. Shoving his hands in his pockets and hunching his shoulders, Ben emerged into a large, bright kitchen, and some distant, buried part of himself that he’d thought was lost longed to make use of it. The tiny spark inside him sputtered and flickered.

He would have loved to cook for Rey, to hear her moan at new flavors and see her wrinkle her nose at ones she didn’t like. Once, he’d thought he might have to search high and low to find things she wouldn’t like, but now, he wouldn’t have the chance. 

“Stop thinking,” Feyre called over a shoulder as she pulled dishes out of a cabinet. “I can practically hear it through your shields.”

Ben froze. She could read minds too. Just kriffing great.

Feyre snorted a laugh from where she now had a box of pastries out on the counter, setting them on a tray with meats and cheeses. Ben watched from where he stood awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen until he felt a sharp prod through the Force that felt distinctly like his mother poking his ribs.

“Can I help?” He still felt awkward and unworthy of her kindness, but he could at least make himself useful.

“Oh, I knew I'd like you! Cassian just sits and stares and Rhys just uses magic for  _ everything _ .” She sighs. “Can you pull that box off the top shelf? Rhys is a prick and likes to put my favorites on high shelves.” 

Trying desperately to make himself as small as possible, he edged around her and grabbed the box she wanted. She nodded her thanks and gestured at a bar stool nestled under a marble-topped island for him to sit. He sat. Feyre brought over the tray and the box he’d retrieved for her and plunked them down between them as she sat across from him.

“Go ahead,” she said and picked a few pieces off the tray and immediately stuffed them in her mouth. It was so like Rey that he wanted to simultaneously laugh and cry at missing her. But he also took small pieces off the tray, unfolding a napkin and placing it in front of him. Feyre quirked an eyebrow at that.

Ben cleared his throat.

“My mother, ah, would not appreciate my making a mess as a guest. But my mother is dead, so, I don’t know why I’m doing this.” He felt Leia’s Force ghost jab him again, much sharper this time, and he flinched.

“My mother never had time for me,” Feyre said conversationally through a mouthful of bread. “She was always planning parties and balls, and then she died when I was young.”

Ben nodded and finished chewing as he thought. He felt comfortable speaking to this woman, at least a little, and maybe… maybe talking about Leia would ease the tension in his chest.

“My mother was a senator,” he said. “She didn’t have much time for me as a child, either.”

Neither of them spoke again as they continued eating, but he felt a tiny bit of tension drain away. He’d never told anyone that, not even Rey. He’d never felt comfortable telling her about his youth before going to train with Luke, not when he’d had every luxury and she’d had to fight to survive from such a young age.

“Would you like to bathe and change clothes?” Feyre asked. They’d cleared the tray completely, and Ben supposed that he wasn’t particularly pleasant to be around after dying and then nearly drowning.

“Yes, please,” he said and gathered their dishes. Feyre took them before he could go to the sink and wash them, though. 

“I’ll take care of those later. For now, you come with me. Dying is…unpleasant.” She said the last sentence so matter-of-factly that it took a moment for her words to sink in. 

“You…too?” He waved his hands vaguely.

“Yes,” she said simply. “We’ll talk about it after you’ve changed. You smell like a dead fish.” Her words were said without a hint of malice, only honesty, so once again, Ben followed Feyre forward.

Feyre led him down another hallway that led away from the kitchen and showed him to a room with a bathing room attached.

“I’ll see if I can find some spare leathers around.” She eyed him appraisingly. “You look like you’re close in size to all three of my Illyrians, so that helps,” she paused for a moment, tapping a finger on her chin in thought. “You don’t have wings though, do you? You can’t summon any?” She peered around his shoulder inquisitively.

“No?” What an odd question.

“Hmm.” She tapped her chin again. “Well, I’ll find you a tunic or something then. I’ll make it work. Get cleaned up and rest, then we can talk, all right?” She smiled kindly and left him at the door.

Inside, Ben slowly went around the well-appointed room and searched for booby-traps or listening devices or anything suspicious but found none. The room was done in shades of cream and tan that reminded him of Rey, but he pushed those thoughts aside. The bed was enormous and looked lovely and soft, and Ben wanted nothing more than to fall into it and sleep to oblivion, but he was very, very salty. And sandy. Sighing, he shucked his clothes and folded them neatly despite the state they were in. He gathers them up and walks gingerly to the bathing room. It was a bit different from a ‘fresher on a destroyer, but it reminded him vaguely of family trips to Naboo in his childhood. Like the bedroom, the bathing room was mostly cream-colored, with gold accents, rather than tan. An enormous tub was sunk into the marble floor, and Ben leaned down to run water to fill it. While he waited for the tub to fill, he found himself standing in front of the mirror. 

The face that stared back at him was definitively different from what he’d seen for the past decade. At least.

Ben Solo stared back at him, not Kylo Ren.

The scar Rey had given him during their first duel was gone; she must have healed it when she’d healed his wound on Kef Bir. He tried not to feel anguish at its absence; any mark Rey gave him was cherished, even such a hideous scar.

That thought stopped him in his tracks.

_ What does it mean that I miss a scar she gave me? What is wrong with me? _ he questioned himself.

But the scar wasn’t the only difference. The weight of Kylo Ren was gone from his shoulders, replaced by a lightness that felt foreign and new. 

The bubbling of the tub behind him broke his reverie, and he slowly lowered himself beneath its foamy surface. Its warmth surrounded him and only then did he allow himself to  _ feel _ everything that had happened over the course of the past several days. 

Rey killing Kylo and bringing him back as Ben, facing the emperor, Rey dying, bringing her back, death…

It was too much.

All at once Ben felt too large and too small at the same time. His breath came in shallow gasps and his vision started turning black around the edges. Curling in on himself in the heat of the water, Ben allowed the intensity of his feelings to wash over him and allowed his body to shake until the panic had passed. 

Once he was able to breathe again, Ben realized that there were some things he needed to address about his relationship with and his feelings for Rey. Surely, it was unhealthy to feel attached to a  _ scar _ she’d given him. 

A knock sounded on the outer chamber door, and checking to be sure that he was covered by bubbles, Ben told the person, Feyre, he assumed, to enter.

It was not Feyre. A woman who looked faintly smoky around the edges floated through the wall next to the door. Floated. Through the wall. And she was smoky and alive, not a Force ghost.

“Um. Hello?” If Ben’s voice hadn’t been a deep baritone, he was sure it would have come out a squeak. It was still a bit higher than usual.

“I’m Nuala,” she said. Even her voice was smoky and faint. “The High Lady has asked me to bring you these.” She presented a pile of clothing and lay it on the white marble countertop. “I’ll take these for laundering and mending.” 

“Oh, sure,” Ben said. “Thanks.” 

Nuala nodded and floated back through the wall the way she’d come through.

Exhaustion crashed through him and Ben decided that he had had enough excitement for one day. Gingerly, he climbed out of the tub and Force-pulled a large fluffy towel to him. He silently gave thanks to whatever gods had created these supposedly large ‘Illyrians’ because, for once, the towel wrapped fully around his waist and was large enough to cover everything that needed to be covered. Not that anyone around here would see him naked, but it was a nice change from the First Order’s tiny, rough towels. The clothes Nuala had brought appeared to be pretty close in size to his own and he was grateful. Once he was dry and dressed, he tumbled into the large bed.

It was plush and soft and nothing like the bed in his quarters on the Finalizer. He wondered if Rey would love it or hate it in all its plush glory. Personally, Ben  _ loved _ it. 

And so he slept and dreamt of Rey.

~

_ She sobs, alone, rocking back and forth in a corner, her own arms wrapped around herself where  _ his _ should be.  _

_ “Ben,” she sobs, over and over. _

_ He tries to reach out, to call to her, anything to make it  _ stop.

_ “I’m here, Sweetheart, I’m here.” _

_ But she can’t hear him and he can’t get to her. _

_ “Rey. REY.”  _

_ He screams her name and thrashes against the invisible bonds holding him back.  _

_ He  _ reaches _ through the Force to calm her or embrace her, he doesn’t know, but it doesn’t  _ work _.  _

_ And now her head is thrown back as she screams in agony. _

~

Ben woke, gasping and blind, with glittering darkness wrapped around him, restraining or soothing or -

He was floating in it, the darkness.

“Breathe,” a male voice commanded through the darkness.

He couldn’t.

“Breathe.” This voice was softer and feminine, but still commanding. “Ben, breathe.” 

Two figures pushed their way through the starlit dark and Ben could feel his body readying for a fight. 

“Ben. You’re doing this. You’re safe now, you can stop.”

He  _ wasn’t _ safe, Rey  _ wasn’t _ safe, she was  _ screaming _ . Her voice still echoed in his ears, pleading for him.

Light poured through the darkness he created in the shape of a woman and he grasped blindly for her.

“ _ Rey.” _

“Ben, no. I’m Feyre. You’re dreaming.  _ Wake up.” _

That time, the command in her voice was enough to break the hold the dream had on him.

Gasping like he’d been drowning, Ben pulled himself to the surface of consciousness enough to use the Force to gently lower himself back to the plush haven that was his bed.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped. “Did I- did I hurt anyone?” 

Feyre and Rhys traded a look.

“We’re used to nightmares around here. Started putting shields around the bedrooms every night,” Rhys shrugged, feigning nonchalance, but the tightness of his shoulders betrayed him. 

“I’m sorry,” Ben repeated, letting his head drop. “I can go…somewhere else.”

Not that he had anywhere to go.

“You will not,” Feyre said, every inch a queen. “Come on; it’s nearly dawn. It’s time you heard Rhys’s story.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feyre is pronounced Fay-ruh.
> 
> A daemati is a person who can read, invade, and control other people's minds.


	4. Circus for a psycho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast, sparring, a meeting, and more sparring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to skyeryder01 for the mood board and the beta read.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with this one. I know it's slow to update, and repetitive if you've read the books, but I'm trying to make it so you don't have to have read the books without spoiling everything. Bear with me folks, we're getting there.

Instead of the kitchen, Feyre led them to a more formal dining room with a long table already spread with food for what looked like twenty people. Nuala and another woman who looked nearly identical to her floated around the table, straightening things and nodding at Feyre and Rhys. The two women disappeared through the wall and Ben wondered if he’d ever get used to that.

“Please, sit.” Feyre did so herself, and Rhys flopped down beside her. “I don’t know when the others will join us.”

Ben did as instructed and was pleasantly surprised to find a chair he didn’t have to squeeze himself into, though the back was oddly shaped.

Feyre noticed him observing the other chairs.

“It’s for the wings,” she said through a mouthful of flaky pastry.

“Wings?” Ben asked, confused.

Feyre smiled and large black wings appeared behind her.

“Wings,” she said. “He can summon them too, but he doesn’t show them to newcomers.” She points her fork at Rhysand, who says nothing.

“I’m sorry. What?” Ben had no idea what she’s talking about.

“Start at the beginning, Rhys.”

“Yes, Feyre, darling,” he says to Feyre. To Ben, he says, “so demanding, my mate.” But he smiles down at her and it feels too private, so Ben looks away.

“Rhys,” Feyre says.

He sketches a half bow from his seat.

“So you know I’m High Lord. I suppose a bit of background might help. Prythian is divided into two large sections, the solar courts and the seasonal courts. The solar are Day, Dawn, and Night. The seasonal are self-explanatory. I am High Lord of the Night Court, and Feyre,” he rests a hand on her shoulder, “is my High Lady, though none of the others have a High Lady.”

“Yet,” Feyre adds.

“Yes. Well, my family has ruled the Night Court for millennia, and my father mated an Illyrian female.” 

At Ben’s look of confusion, Feyre supplies the answer.

“Illyrians are fae with wings. Our general and spymaster are the strongest Illyrians in history. You’ll meet them later.”

“Anyway,” Rhys continues, “my father mated an Illyrian female, so I’m a half-breed, no better than a bastard to some, and I can summon the wings at will. Another Fae kingdom exists across the sea, Hybern, and _that_ is where my story really begins. A little over five hundred years ago, the humans waged war against the Fae, who had used them as slaves for millennia, and they’d had enough. Fae served on both sides of the war, but Hybern was among the worst. They’d been built on the back of human slaves and were not willing to give that up.”

“And you?” Ben asked. “What did you fight for, if that’s where your story begins?”

Rhys eyed him sharply.

“The Night Court fought for freedom,” he said simply.

Ben nodded and finally began eating.

“So,” Rhys continued, “I fought for freedom. And Hybern did not. But we won the war. The humans built a magical wall to separate us, keep us out. A little more than fifty years ago, Amarantha, one of Hybern’s worst commanders was sent to Prythian to take over for Hybern in his bid to return the humans to slavery. Amarantha,” and Rhysand spat her name, “wanted Tamlin, High Lord of Spring, but he didn’t want her. She couldn’t stand that he wasn’t interested, so in revenge, she used a spell to steal the power of the High Lords. To curse us. For fifty years, we remained locked under our sacred mountain. And…” Feyre gently laid her hand on top of his where it rested on the table. “For fifty years she _used_ me. I _let_ her use me. I serviced her to turn her attention away from my people, my court. I did _horrible_ things for her. The people thought I was a monster.” Rhysand was gazing off into the distance, a frozen look on his face.

Ben was horrified at what he was being told. Sacrificing himself, to save his people? He felt he saw the High Lord cast in a new light. 

“To protect them, my people, I showed Amarantha and the rest of the world the monster they expected to see. And then, along came Feyre.” He paused and smiled slightly. “I dreamed of her, at first. Not knowing who she was or where she was. But I got little glimpses from her in the human lands. She used to be human. Did you know?”

Ben shook his head, intrigued. 

“And she’s…fae…now?” 

“We’ll get to that, but yes. She was across the wall, so my visions of her weren’t clear. Until one day, they were and I knew she was _here_ . And I saw her. With _Tamlin_ . She was the one who would break the curse. I had to be the monster, or Amarantha would have killed her. With her last breath, Feyre saved us all. And I convinced the High Lords to each give a tiny kernel of their power to bring her back. To me. I knew she was my mate before I felt the bond, but she didn’t. And I couldn’t tell her. She had to _choose_.”

Feyre looked down at her plate but didn’t speak.

“And she did, eventually. _That_ is another long story, but not important now. I think we can learn from each other.” Rhys gestured between himself and Ben. “And besides,” Rhys stood and cracked his neck, “you look like you could use some exercise.” The grin he gave Ben was nothing short of feral. “Come with me.”

“Rhys,” Feyre warned.

“No, it’s alright,” Ben said quietly. “I can take care of myself.” He straightened his shoulders and followed Rhys out a large set of glass doors to a flat, tiled section of patio with a space that was clearly a sparring ring. A large round object on a stand cast shade over a few long chairs with a small table between. Ben stood awkwardly, hovering just outside the glass doors as Rhysand walked over to the edge of the ring, rolling his shoulders. 

“You have some training?” Rhysand asked, unbuttoning his tunic.

“I do,” Ben nodded, rolling his shoulders too. He pulled his own tunic off, and when he looked back to Rhysand, an enormous pair of black wings sprouted from his back. Ben was surprised, though they had told him about the wings. Blue-black tattoos snake like vines over the other male’s shoulders and arms, appearing to move as he rotates his body to get the blood flowing. 

A ripple of power snaked out from Rhys; a signal, Ben thought, but for what, he didn’t know. Rhysand waves a hand, and a rack of various weaponry appeared. Longing for his lightsaber, Ben stalked over to the rack, examining the various implements warily. 

“Where did it come from?” he asked, picking up a spiked mace and spinning his wrist.

“I keep this particular rack in a sort of pocket realm, or space between spaces. Feyre darling doesn’t care to look at weapons when they’re not in use.” Rhysand winked at his mate, who had come out the glass doors and passed them to settle in one of the long chairs with a steaming mug and a book. “Ready?” Rhys asked, nodding to the mace in Ben’s hands.

“Ah, I’m more comfortable with other weapons.” Ben thought that the mace felt _too_ violent, and he didn’t want to call to the darkness he still felt resting inside him. “Perhaps a staff?” 

“Indeed.” 

In unison, Rhys and Ben flung out their hands toward the rack, each summoning a staff. A wide grin split Rhysand’s face as he and Ben started circling each other within the ring. Out of the corner of his eye, Ben noticed that another female, this one with long blonde hair, had joined Feyre and taken a chair. 

Rhys’s first blow nearly caught him off guard, but the Force warned him with just enough time to flick his wrist to deflect the staff from breaking his nose. Ben’s knuckles whitened as his grip on the staff tightened. He let his breath out, stilling himself, using the Force to anticipate Rhysand’s next moves. With a flurry of movements, Ben threw himself forward, spinning and jumping and striking. Rhys blocked each move, and Ben could tell that they were nearly evenly matched in size and stature and skill. And so they continued, using the staffs and throwing in the occasional acrobatic move for good measure.

Ben and Rhys locked staffs, and Ben heard a giggle and a derogatory remark come from the direction of the two females. Rhys rolled his eyes and broke the staff-lock, panting slightly. Also out of breath, Ben panted and nodded his thanks when Rhys floated a glass of water over to him on a thread of glittering black power.

A slow clap sounds from behind them, and Ben whirled to see two more winged males approaching. Rhys and Feyre made no move to defend themselves, so Ben stood down, but kept his staff within reach.

Just in case.

“Cauldron, Rhysie, you’re getting slow in your old age,” the one with shoulder-length hair and red stones on his gauntlets spits out with a barking laugh.

Feyre and the other female guffawed loudly from their seats. Ben looked closer to see that the other woman had brought a bottle of wine that they were nearly halfway through.

“Cassian, your insolence is ill-advised in front of _guests_ ,” Rhysand hissed. He nodded at the other male. This one had slightly shorter hair, with blue stones on his gauntlets. The three winged males all looked similar, in the way that people from the same region all look vaguely similar without looking alike. 

The longer-haired one, Cassian, slammed a large hand on Rhysand’s shoulder and Rhys scowled back at the other male. 

“Azriel,” the other said by way of introduction.

“Ben,” Ben nodded to him.

“Have you found _another_ human?” Cassian asked, eyeing Ben both warily and with a hint of humor in his hazel eyes.

Ben ignored the pang that came with the realization that Cassian’s eyes looked like _hers_.

“Not exactly.” Rhys tossed the remaining water in his glass at Cassian, who barely sidestepped to get out of the way. “He fell through the door.”

Azriel and Cassian both snapped their attention to Ben, who felt remarkably uncomfortable under such intense scrutiny.

“And he’s not human, at least, not like the humans in our world.”

Ben wanted to point out that he was standing right there, they could just _ask him_. He shifted his weight and clenched his hand around the staff. 

Feyre stood and wandered over while the males all stared at each other.

“Play nice, boys. Benny here is one of us.” She patted him kindly on the shoulder.

Cassian cracked his knuckles ominously, took two staves from the rack, and tossed one to Azriel, who spun it once around him. Ben was reminded of his Knights and fighting with his brothers who, at the end, had been used by Palpatine like himself and Rey. Anger burned through him, and Ben rolled his shoulders in preparation for the onslaught from the two newcomers. 

Amid the whirling and striking of the staves, Ben lost himself to the Force and the fight. How long had it been since he had been able to practice and focus on form?

Before Snoke, surely.

Even his training while under Snoke’s thumb had had an edge, and Ben had never truly let himself sink fully into the training the way he was with these…Illyrians. 

Ben’s muscles burned, and he relished the pain. Not in the sense that the Dark Side relished pain, but in the sense that his body was moving and working and he was _alive_. 

A particularly hard blow from the near-silent Azriel had Ben ducking and rolling beneath the flurry of blows, and he used a Force-push to propel himself away.

“No fair,” Cassian complained. “No magic.”

“Eh,” Rhysand said, and Ben got a bad feeling.

Cassian grinned at Azriel, who rolled his eyes. Their movements were perfectly synchronized as they slammed their hands together before them, their red and blue stones glow expanding to form a sort of shield in front of them.

Scrambling backward, Ben held his own hands out in front of his body, readying himself for what, he didn’t know. 

A spear of blue crackling energy, like but also unlike Force lightning, spiked out of Azriel’s blue shield, and Ben was just barely able to deflect it with the Force. Azriel frowned but didn’t attack again. Cassian mimicked the movement and slung another spear of power at Ben who Force-pushed it back into the joint where the two males’ shields joined. The power flickered, but the shield held, a deep, gong-like ring sounding from it. Ben rolled his shoulders, flexed his fingers, and readied himself for another blow. This time, the two winged-males flung power at him at the same time, and he saw that he would be unable to dodge both, so, remembering Rey’s jump in the desert of Pasaana, he backed up a step and vaulted himself up and over the force field, and landed behind them.

Both spun to face him, but clapping from Feyre’s direction halted them.

“Enough male posturing,” she said. “You can pull out a ruler later. Let’s drink!”

Ben thought it a bit early in the morning for drinking, but the others seemed to have no problem joining her, so he did as well. Wineglasses were passed around and filled, and Feyre silently toasted.

After everyone had drunk to her, Ben saw Feyre make small shooing motions at Rhysand and the other males with her hands, and Ben hid his grin with a sip from his wine. Cassian frowned at Feyre, clearly not understanding, but Azriel gave a long-suffering sigh and a nod before walking to where Ben stood slightly away from the group.

“You’re well-trained,” the winged-male said. 

“Ah, thank you. As are you.” 

Both gave a sharp nod to the other and went back to their drinks. 

“Your skills in swordplay seem…different,” Azriel offered after an awkward silence. 

“Ah,” Ben spun the glass in his hands, “I’m used to a different style of weapon. A lightsaber.” 

Ben felt the others’ attention shift to their conversation, though they kept up the pretense of their own.

“A what?” Azriel asked politely, though he cut his eyes to the others as if in a plea for help.

“Lightsaber,” Ben repeated. 

He explained to Azriel about the kyber crystal focusing the plasma beam inside the metal hilt, and when he’d finished the speech he’d practically recited out of a sacred Jedi text, Cassian and Rhysand had joined them.

The three males shared a look, then turned as one to peer at Feyre, who waved haphazardly with her wine glass. 

“Could you demonstrate this light... saber?” Rhysand asked.

Ben could feel something simmering behind the violet eyes, though he couldn’t discern what.

“Mine was…lost,” he said. “And my…well…there are none here.”

“Suppose we could offer you a focusing crystal of sorts,” Cassian said, tracing his fingers over the red stone on the back of his gauntlet. 

Now that Ben’s eyes were drawn to it, he could feel the sense of power emanating from it and the male who wore it.

“Cass and Az wear siphons,” Rhys explained, “seven each. The most of any Illyrian. Ever.” He didn’t bother hiding the pride in his voice. “Illyrians wield raw killing power. The siphons allow it to be harnessed, wielded with precision. I _think_ that with Feyre’s help, we could build one.”

Ben blinked several times at the males clustered before him. They all wore a vaguely wary, but somehow hopeful expression. 

“Why?” Ben was mostly wary with almost no hope. 

The tiny flicker of the Force that was Leia sent what felt like an eye roll his way.

“Well,” Rhysand started, but he was interrupted.

“It’s a new weapon!” Cassian exclaimed, hoisting his glass high, wings flapping slightly. 

Azriel cut a look at Rhysand and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“What darling Cassian means,” Rhys said, “is that your lightsaber is something that could be…beneficial to us.”

“Are you at war?” Ben asked, brows furrowing and shoulders ratcheting up around his ears.

He wasn’t prepared for war the first time he participated in one, and he certainly wasn’t ready for a war in someone else’s universe. His heartbeat pounded as he waited for their answer.

Rhysand stared at him for a moment, and Ben felt the scrape of Rhys’s mental claws over his own shield. But it wasn’t invasive so much as…Rhys was trying to say something?

_Not yet_ , came the High Lord’s voice in his mind, even as he spoke aloud.

“It is the High Lord’s duty to always be alert and ready to defend his people,” Rhys said, arching a black brow. 

“Very diplomistic of you…diplomastic… diplo-whatever the fuck it is,” Cassian drawled, flinging his arms around Ben and Azriel. 

Ben could feel that Cassian was not as drunk as he was pretending, and wondered if this was another sort of test from the general.

“C’mon,” Cassian said, dragging his captives along as he walked back toward the house. “Let’s show him how those siphons work.” 

Alarm bells rang in Ben’s head, but he didn’t sense outright hostility from them, so he let himself be dragged back inside, readying himself for a fight.

As soon as they were back inside, two energy shields, one red, one blue, erupted around Ben in a perfect sphere, and Cassian dropped the drunk act. He stalked toward Ben, not threateningly, but still with a look of intent that made Ben uneasy.

“Why are you here?” Cassian glowered at him, though their equally-matched heights made it less intimidating than Cassian probably meant for it to be. 

“I don’t know,” Ben admitted. “I died, and that is all that I know.” 

Cassian crossed his arms, bulging muscles rippling. Azriel stepped forward, side-eyeing Cassian.

“You’ve never heard of Prythian? You truly know nothing of the fae? Of the courts?” Azriel’s voice was cold and quiet, where Cassian’s had been loud and violent.

“It is true.” Ben crossed his own arms over his chest and waited for the interrogation to continue.

“Rhys said that you have some sort of Daemati powers, like but unlike his and Feyre’s,” Azriel continued.

“Yes,” Ben agreed.

“Can you demonstrate them?” Azriel asked.

Ben arched an eyebrow and felt through the Force for Azriel’s mind. 

_Is Cassian always a prick?_ Ben asked Azriel through the force. Azriel’s lip gave a minuscule twitch, his only reaction.

“Can you tell me more about the siphons?” Ben tried to bring the focus back around to a subject less likely to get him pummeled by magic.

Cassian continued glaring.

“Tell us more about you first. Why are you so well-trained?”

“I studied under my uncle, a Jedi master, and later with the Knights of Ren.” His training under Snoke had been less about combat and more about mental and physical torture, so he left that part out. 

“A Jedi master? Explain,” Cassian barked.

And so Ben recited a brief history of the Jedi, their rise and fall, and the shortest version of Luke’s story he could come up with that didn’t sound bitter and angry. 

“And then, when the Knights of Ren destroyed the Praxeum, Luke escaped and hid, effectively ending the Jedi for good.” Ben also neglected to mention Rey and _her_ training.

She wasn’t a Jedi, so it didn’t count, anyway.

His neglecting to mention her had nothing to do with the pain of saying her name aloud. Not at all.

“Hmm.” Cassian’s monosyllabic answer left Ben wondering if he had said too much or too little. “So your family feared you, abandoned you, and then your uncle tried to kill you?” Cassian asked.

“Yes.” 

Cassian’s guffaw made Ben jump as it echoed around the room.

“You’ll fit in well with the bastards, then. Az and I don’t have the best relationships with our families either.” Cassian’s white teeth glinted like a predator’s as he grinned at Ben. “I won’t trust you fully until you’ve proved yourself somehow. Understand?” Ben nodded. “Good. You can stay.”

Azriel nodded his assent. 

“Let’s raid the wine cellar and find more of the good stuff Rhysie’s been hoarding.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Stay safe, stay healthy. <3


	5. Don't Wake Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of Rey POV, dreams, and... a paint bubble?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My darling readers, I do apologize for the long wait. For some reason, this fic puts me in a very strange headspace, and it gets difficult to write. It's not abandoned, I promise.
> 
> Thanks to skyryder01 for the beta read and ideas.

Every night while she dreams, Rey comes back to life to Ben’s beautiful face, kisses him, and feels a missing piece of her soul click back into place. Before it’s ripped away as he collapses in a heap in front of her. But every night, she wakes frozen in place with his name on her lips and his sweater clutched in her hands, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes until her limbs unlock and she can curl up around the sweater and sob herself back to an uneasy sleep. 

Her friends are worried; she knows that, but it takes too much out of her to try to explain the dyad when she still doesn’t truly know what it means. Rose brings her bits and pieces of broken machinery to try to coax her into joining the engineering team now that her services as a Force user is no longer needed, but Rey’s fingers fly over the pieces, fixing them as if she were a droid rather than human. Finn brings her treats from the multitude of planets he visits as co-general with Poe and Rey accepts them only to place them uneaten in her small personal conservator. For the first time, she has a stash of food, but is no longer hungry. The irony is not lost on her. Poe just tries to irritate her into her old self, but he only succeeds in irritating her further. On the rare occasion that she leaves her quarters, she hears whispers from her fellow resistance fighters. “The last Jedi” was most heard, and she wanted to scream at them that she was no Jedi, but that requires energy she doesn’t possess. 

So she simply exists.

Ben wouldn’t have wanted her to let herself fall so badly into this deep pit inside herself, but the sight of his last smile is burned into her mind like a brand. He had just  _ disappeared _ , leaving nothing but his clothes behind. 

What does it  _ mean _ ? 

For a whole week after he was gone, Rey let herself wallow. It was a luxury she had never had before, so she let herself feel all the things she’d never been able to. Anger and sadness for her parents, missing Leia, trying to work through her complicated feelings toward Luke, but mostly just yearning for Ben. And after one week, she simply shoved her feelings down into the pit, so like the one he’d fallen into. 

During that week, she’d cut herself off from the Force. When she finally allowed herself to reconnect to it, she felt unsettled. The strength of the force crashing back into her knocked her back over the brink into unconsciousness, and she let herself fall willingly if it meant no longer feeling the pain of his absence.

While she was unconscious, she dreamed about him. He was in another place, a place filled with bright colors and magic and he was calling her name. In her dream, he dreamed of her too. 

But what did it mean?

Rey noticed that once she reconnected to the she felt connected to those who had come before her. The Jedi who abandoned her, who hadn’t spoken to her until they needed her. Rey felt betrayed and ignored them all. They called her name, but she still ignored them; Luke and Leia and all the others that she didn’t recognize.

Why couldn’t they come to her when she needed them? She had begged for them to be with her, and they only came after  _ he _ was gone.

When she returned to herself, she joined the engineering team with Rose, and she started eating with Finn, though she didn’t taste her food. She talked to Poe whose good nature ribbing still rankles her, but she didn’t give it back to him like she used to.

And she was angry. Angry at the force and at the Jedi and at Ben for leaving her.

She dreamed still… Until one night when she dreamed she said his name and he answered her back.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Ben sat bolt upright in his bed, not sure where he was, not sure what had just happened. But it felt like he had connected with Rey the way they had connected a year ago on Crait before Exegol. He felt her in a way that was stronger than the small blips he’d felt since his fall to Velaris. 

His hands roughly pushed through his hair, and he felt sweat drip down his back. He couldn’t breathe. He could still feel her.

Was he imagining her scent in the air, or had there really been another Force connection?

Ben didn’t know what to think, so he wrenched himself from the damp bed and walked through the hall to the kitchen where he rummaged in the cabinets until he found enough ingredients to throw…something…together. Being Supreme Leader hadn’t offered much opportunity for his culinary experimentation, but now he found himself in this strange kitchen in this strange land chopping and sautéing and stirring. Rey, he thought, would have loved it. She would’ve eaten anything he cooked for her with no hesitation; she might have eaten so quickly that she wouldn’t have even tasted it.

Eventually, Feyre joined him in the kitchen, and when he finished cooking, Ben placed a well-heaped plate in front of her. She dug into her food with the same gusto that he’d imagined Rey would have, and even if Ben can barely manage a few bites himself, it’s nice to see someone else enjoy it. 

“Rough night?” Feyre asks around a mouthful of potatoes.

Ben sighed and ran his hand through his hair again.

“I had a dream about her…that we connected again the way we used to and it seemsed so real.” He paused to duck his head. “But how can it be real? I’m here and she’s there, and I don’t even think she knows I’m alive. So how can we be connecting through the Force if we aren’t even in the same universe?” The words tumbled out of his mouth in a rush. 

Feyre nodded as he spoke.

“I don’t know how the doors between worlds work, and I don’t know how you got here,” she said. “But somehow something is connecting you despite the distance. Rhys and I used to dream of each other despite the Wall between the human world and Prythian. If she  _ is _ your mate, or your…,” she paused to remember the word he’d used, “dyad…maybe the connection is strong enough to speak across worlds. Aelin would know. But her door is shut.” Feyre trailed off, lost in thought. 

Ben listened, but didn’t understand. Aelin and her doors had been mentioned, but no one really seemed to know how they worked. He tapped his finger on the cold stone of the countertop in contemplation.

“Have you seen Velaris?” Feyre asked, breaking his reverie.

“No,” Ben said simply. He’d been staying in his room, trying not to cause trouble or be noticed by the inhabitants of the house. The Illyrians were already mistrustful of him; he had no interest in bringing more attention to himself and his power.

Feyre grinned at him, like she knew. 

“Come on,” she said, standing. “I”ll show you the city.”

She gestured for Ben to follow, and together, they left the kitchen and made their way through a hallway to a different door than the one he’d entered with Amren. Feyre eyed him for a moment, then grabbed two coats off the rack beside the door. The one she handed to him was dark and lined with shearling wool, much softer than the industrialized fabrics he was used to wearing. It fit perfectly.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and Feyre just smiled and nodded.

Together, they ventured out into the cold air. Once outside, they walked along the river walk, with Feyre pointing out various sites and battlegrounds until they came to an arched sign proclaiming the entrance to the Palace of Bone and Salt. They entered the palace, with Feyre leading the way. She pointed out her favorite spots to buy treats, though they passed on buying raw meats and fresh spices; she said she wasn’t much of a cook. Taking it all in, Ben wondered what Rey would think of such bounty out in the open, and easily accessible with their delicious, almost overwhelming scents. Ben very nearly  _ was _ overwhelmed; he imagined Rey would turn feral with wanting to try it all.

They wandered along, with Feyre stopping at her favorite shops and stalls, making purchases, and handing them over to Ben who’d quietly offered to carry them for her. Quite frequently, the people of Velaris paused to hail Feyre, and she took the time to speak to each one. The people all knew her and treated her with deference and respect, but they were not afraid.

Feyre’s people loved her, and that was new and strange.

Beside him, the High Lady of the Night Court seemed to pick up on his thoughts and placed her hand on his shoulder. Images of wolves made of water and winged demons and blood flashed through his mind, and Ben understood. She’d fought for them, been willing to die for them, loved them as they loved her.

As she smiled sadly, Feyre linked their arms and led them further into Velaris.

The colors of the buildings were even brighter than they’d been on his first journey through the city, though that may have been because he was less frightened and confused on this second trip. Feyre seemed intent on showing him every shop in the city, and eventually she took pity on him for carrying such a large amount of boxes, and vanished everything to a pocket realm. Ben didn’t understand the last phrase and was startled when her things disappeared, but Feyre didn’t seem bothered, so he wouldn’t be either. 

After a long time wandering the paths of the various palaces, Feyre took Ben’s elbow and gently steered them to a building that appeared to be an art gallery. Ushering him in, Feyre pulled the door closed behind them with a little jingle from a silver bell that hung on the door knob. She went through an open door into the room beyond, leaving Ben just inside the threshold. Once he was fully inside, Ben observed the room. The walls were bright white, with canvases of varying sizes hung at intervals along the white surface, and a pleasant scent he couldn’t quite place permeated the air. Stepping closer to view the paintings, Ben was startled at what he found. Some of the paintings were calming pastorals and portraits, but others were dark. Angry. Painful to see. The inherent darkness of the paintings seemed so at odds with the stark white of the room, and seeing the florals amongst the images of blood and gore and monsters was jarring. Ben felt his jaw set in a firm line as he followed the paintings around the room, determined to look at each one, despite the growing pit he felt in his stomach. 

Seeing the paintings was like having his anger and guilt and hurt ripped from inside him and put on display for all to see.

“Who painted these?” Ben asked the empty room.

Feyre’s golden-brown head peeked in from the hallway.

“They did,” she said, gesturing behind her, the inhabitants of the room blocked from his view. “Would you like to join us?”

Ben swallowed thickly and nodded, stepping across the gallery and into the other room.

The room was filled with…children.

Ranging in age from what Ben judged to be about five to teens, several smock-wearing children of varying rainbow-hues and shapes stood before easels laden with canvases and paints. Some peered at him curiously, while others blinked and returned to their work. Though he was fond of children, he’d never really known how to be around them, so he remained where he stood, unsure of what to do.

“Here,” Feyre said kindly, “we made a spot for you.” She waved him to an easel without a painter, and Ben lumbered over to stand behind it. “Oh, ah,” Feyre looked between him and the easel, which was much too small, “I’ll get you a stool.” 

The stool floated toward them from a corner, and Ben sat. The stool was also too small, but at least it made him eye level with the canvas.

“Thank you,” he said. When Feyre turned to walk away, Ben panicked. “What do I do?” He whispered.

Feyre’s braid slid over a shoulder as she leaned forward to show him the brushes and paints in the compartments of the easel.

“Paint,” she said simply before patting his shoulder and walking away to see to a child who had abandoned his canvas and was floating blobs of bright orange paint in the air.

Paint,  _ right _ , Ben thought as he picked up brush after brush, unsure of which to use. His fingers sifted through the tubes of paint, cataloging the colors there, still uncertain. Casting his eyes to the side, he saw that the girl nearest him, about seven he guessed, was gesturing at him with the round thing on her hand. It was covered with blobs of paint, some colors mixed and some remaining pure. Ah. Ben nodded at the little girl and offered her a half-smile. She nodded solemnly back at him and went back to her work. After finding his own palette, Ben carefully squeezed out tiny amounts of the paint colors he’d chosen and stared at the blank white canvas before him, willing the paint to just…take shape on its own.

“You’re supposed to actually use the paints.” The sad voice belonged to the little girl beside him. She’d walked over to stand beside him, looking between his palette and the canvas.

“I’m not sure how,” Ben admitted.

“Feyre says to paint what you feel,” the little girl said.

Ben looked to the little girl’s easel. A pattern of darkness and colors dotted her half-covered canvas.

“What do you feel?” Ben asked her, but he thought he knew the answer.

“Some days I feel good, some days I feel bad,” she said simply. 

Ben nodded.

“What do you feel?” The little girl asked.

“I…don’t know.”

“Hmm.” The little girl’s silvery blue eyes fell on him. “Close your eyes and just let your brush move.” She stared at him for a moment with a face too serious for a child, then crossed back to her own easel.

Her words were oddly reminiscent of his earliest teachings of the Force, and Ben almost bristled at the thought. But he reminded himself that the Force had connected him and Rey, and that it had been the Jedi, not the Force, who had…

He let go of the thought and closed his eyes.

Setting his thoughts and feelings aside, Ben let the force flow through him and began to paint.

Minutes or hours later, when he opened his eyes, a pattern of green and gold and soft brown stared back at him.

Rey’s eyes.

~~~~~

In her dream, and she knew it was a dream because her vision was blurred around the edges and odd things were drawn into focus, like the little boy with green skin who appeared to be using the Force to float a bubble made of bright orange paint above his head while a tall woman with pointed ears gestured at him.

But Ben…she saw Ben in the back of the room, sitting with his eyes closed and…painting? 

Rey’s vision shifted as though she’d moved across the room in half a moment, and she stood face to face with Ben, holding his dark gaze with her own. He blinked. She blinked.

She tried to speak, to reach out, but as was often the case with dreams, she was rendered mute and still.

But Ben saw her too. She knew he saw her in the way his eyes widened and the harsh line of his mouth softened.

Movement flashed behind him, but Rey didn’t care. She drank in the sight of him like water in a desert.

Their eyes met and it was like finding half of herself again, that missing, aching piece. Neither spoke; they just…stared.

Until orange paint exploded over Ben’s head, splattering his hair and face. 

And for a moment, Rey forgot they were separated by life and death and she threw her head back and  _ howled _ with laughter.

~~~~~~

By the time Ben had blinked orange paint out of his eyes, Rey had disappeared. But he’d seen her smile.

Her face had been wan, and she’d had dark circles beneath her eyes, but she had  _ smiled. _ At him.

For the briefest moment, his heart soared with the familiar feeling of excitement. At seeing her, connecting with her. Until it all crashed back down as he remembered that they remained separated. 

Awareness returned as Feyre’s magic brushed softly against him, gently removing the orange paint from his skin and hair and clothes. Ben scowled.

And recoiled when he saw the face of the little boy who’d accidentally dumped what appeared to be an entire bucket’s-worth of paint over his head.

Abashed, Ben lowered himself to be eye-level with the little boy.

“I’m sorry,” the little boy said, looking down at the scuffed brown leather of his boots.

“It’s alright,” Ben said and flicked a drop of paint that the magic had missed at the child.

Apparently this was all the encouragement the boy needed, for he threw himself forward and wrapped his arms around Ben, nearly toppling them both backwards. Ben looked to Feyre for help, but she was off with another of her students, so Ben awkwardly patted the top of the boy’s head. 

When the class was declared finished and Ben had helped Feyre clean up the last of the stray drops of paint, they left the gallery, locking the door behind them. Rhysand waited, leaning lazily against the outer wall, before approaching Feyre with his arms outstretched. She hugged him quickly and brushed her lips lightly against his, but backed away before Rhysand could turn the kiss into something less meant for public viewing. Ben would’ve sworn the High Lord pouted in response.

“We saw her, Rhys.” Feyre’s voice was quiet and serious, and it took a moment for her words to register. When they did, Ben whipped his head around to gape at the woman.

“You—you saw her? R—Rey?” His voice was a harsh croak in the cold air.

Feyre nodded. 

“But—how? No one has ever seen our…connections before.”

“Things are different here, Solo. Perhaps whatever magic that connects you works differently in our world.” Rhys’s voice was not unkind, but matter-of-fact. 

Feyre elbowed her mate in the ribs.

“Let’s send a message to Aelin, Rhys. Maybe she can help.”

“And Aelin is…who?” Ben shoved his hands into the pockets of the borrowed jacket.

“She’s the one who opens doors between worlds,” Feyre and Rhys said together, and smiled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading my silliness. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :D


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